The Spiral Effect Page 5
dots make up the maze wall. I make out the wisp of Taylor’s blonde hair and the blurred streak of her blue and white checkered dress as she cuts past a corner ahead of me.
Taylor, wait!
She only responds with laughter. For some reason I can’t touch her mind. Can’t reach into her conscious or subconscious to let her know I’m not a threat. Only option is to give chase in the maze.
Traps are a certainty, so best to walk, keep an eye out for anything. She obviously wants me to run after her, get lost, trapped in a mental maze for an eternity. Leave a trail of bread crumbs in case I need to back track.
I’m not here to hurt you.
No response.
Take a left.
Can’t believe one little girl could be so strong. I’ve never met anyone with this kind of power. Over a million minds and all amateurs, like toddlers learning to use scissors for the first time. But Taylor—I wish I could access her memories—her thoughts, get some sort of clue.
Right—no, dead end. Backtrack—left. Another dead end. Straight and narrow.
“Boring!”
Taylor.
“Chase me!”
Stop. I only came to help.
“What they all say.”
An explosion roars behind me. Tremors follow. The floor moves, my body shakes, the dominoes begin to budge.
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
“Better run now.”
The dominoes behind fall in succession, knocking over the one beside it. Perhaps I can hold them still—
BOOM!
BOOM!
Run.
“Don’t get lost—don’t get lost.”
Right—no left.
BOOM!
BOOM!
Dead end—back track.
“Not gonna make it.”
Ignore her taunts—the collapsing maze. Clear your mind and focus.
“Gonna crush you.”
FOCUS!
Back track—back track.
“I wouldn’t go that way.”
Wall falling—ignore, back, back, now left.
BOOM!
“Oh, no fair.”
Keep it clear. This maze—seems similar to one I’ve done before. One I’ve—
DUCK!
Go straight—straight, cut the corner, right, right again, left, cut, cut, left, and I’m—
On a beach. Dominoes are gone. Just purple water and black sand. The moon glows iron red as the waves, no—no waves. Why aren’t there—I know this. I’ve—no, she couldn’t have.
Taylor giggles.
Where are you? This isn’t a game.
She doesn’t respond. Of course not. She’s quietly waiting to watch what happens next—see what will rise from the water. If it’ll both figuratively and literally turn me into stone.
A bloodcurdling screech cracks the moon as the water bubbles. The diameter of the bubbling water expands to Titanic proportions. Here she comes—just like she did twenty-five years ago.
A splashing roar as the snake haired woman explodes out of the water. Her serpentine body, from stomach to tail, shimmers like diamonds. Breasts exposed and fully engorged. Her forked tongue dances.
The eyes—the eyes—don’t look into her eyes.
My body trembles, giving in to past instinct. Have to fight it. Can’t let her turn me to stone. Not like all the other times. Will wake up to wet sheets—dad will yell at me—
No—stay current—in the present—not the past.
Medusa opens her mouth, releasing a beautiful, hypnotic melody.
Don’t look—
but it’s so beautiful—
A trap—
want to listen—
Ignore it—
want to see—
I SAID NO!
A slight whimper from my younger conscious. The beast increases the volume of her venomous song. I hold my hands over my ears, but that only seems to magnify her voice.
just a peek—
It’s death—
not one little peek—
N—n—no—
please—
All right. Just one—
INTRUDER! INTRUDER! WAKE UP!
The beast stops singing and in agitation, looks for the source of the distorted ring.
ouch. what’s that?
Just a dream—go back to sleep.
but—
Shh. Sleep now.
The younger voice is gone. Focus on the beast. Put a final end to her.
Waves froth, begin to move. Slow, gaining speed, intensity. She roars. Futile now. I have control again. The waves grow and reach to her breasts, crashing against her, pushing her backward. Medusa tries to resume her song, but it’s too late. The waves rise to her chin.
Higher. Stronger.
The tide sucks backward, revealing an empty seabed consumed by her massive serpentine tail. Medusa gives one last roar before the giant wave collapses, burying her beneath the dead ocean.
INTRUDER! INTRUDER!
Intensify the sound—the flashing yellow, green, red, and orange lights. Sting her eyes. Disorient her. Sorry Taylor, but you have no idea how important those files are to the world.
“I’m sorry.”
The dark beach slowly fades away and melts into the front door to my office. The door is slightly ajar, the lock broken, lying smashed on the floor.
Taylor?
“Didn’t know. Didn’t know.”
She sits by my desk, knees up, arms clutched around them. She rocks back and forth, crying. Another trap? Possible. Taylor has already caught me off guard three times.
Focus. Stay aware.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Please don’t hurt me.”
Taylor looks up, tears staining her cheeks. A cold draft coming from somewhere blows her hair across her face. A piece of white paper, words scribbled from top to bottom on both sides, flies past her and falls at my feet. I step on it to keep it from blowing away, bend down, pick it up, fold it neatly, and place it in my pocket.
Turn it off, Taylor.
She shakes her head. “I didn’t do it. I was thinking about it—but—but—I promise, I didn’t do it.”
No more tricks.
“It’s not a trick! I told you I didn’t do it. Someone else. Let me go home. Let me go to my mommy. I promise I’ll leave you alone. Won’t bother you again.”
Not until you explain what’s happening.
“I said I’m sorry.”
Taylor.
“You don’t believe me. You think I did it. I didn’t I didn’t I didn’t.”
She buries her head in her arms and sobs.
Genuine.
I kneel at her side and touch her shoulder. Taylor…
“I thought you were like them. Going to steal my mommy’s body—my body.” She sniffs up some snot. “I had already set a trap for them but you came. Didn’t know—didn’t know you were good until I saw—saw—please, I didn’t do it. You have to believe me.”
I hug her and rub her hair as she cries some more. Shh. I believe you. I believe you. My files are fine. None are missing. Everything’s okay.
Pity flashes in her eyes.
“You mean you don’t know?”
Not a trick.
Genuine.
“The paper.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out the crumpled piece of notebook paper. At the top is written: November 15, 1989: Trip to Dallas.
What is this? A memory?
I smooth out the paper and look at it more closely.
Dad got mad at mom again. Flicked his cigarette at her and stormed down the walkway. Everyone watched in disbelief and disgust. I blame the heat. It’s hot here. Sun beats down on everyone. No shade. Stupid place too. Don’t care about where Kennedy got shot. Don’t even know who he was. Probably someone famous. Maybe a musician like John Lennon.
What is this?
Taylor’s
lip trembles. She thinks I don’t believe her.
“Please, just let me go back to my mommy.”
Taylor, I believe you didn’t do it. I promise. But do you know why one of my memories is adrift?
“Uh…” Taylor stares at her feet, won’t look me in the eye.
You do, don’t you?
“Promise you won’t get mad?”
Why would I get mad?
“You have to promise.”
Okay, okay. I promise. I won’t get mad at you.
“Or around me. If you start to get real angry and think you might yell or throw stuff, let me go to my mommy first, okay? I hate it when grownups get mad.”
I nod, understanding the feeling all too well.
I promise.
“Come here.” Taylor holds out her hand. I take it and she leads me toward the direction of the cold breeze.
The air grows colder, wind stronger, as we walk closer to its source.
“It’s not good.” Taylor says. “It happened to my daddy once. Some guy tried to take mommy. Said he liked the way she looked. Would make a good trophy. Disgusting pervert—what my dad called him. Daddy fought him—tore up his mind—but not before the bad man could perform the 52 card pickup.”
52 card pickup?
“You know, that mean game adults trick kids into playing?”
I’m not sure.
“Of course. That’s probably—never mind. The 52 card pickup disorganized some of my daddy’s thoughts and memories. One moment he thought he was ten and fishing with his daddy; a second later he was confused because he thought mommy was still pregnant. Luckily he had already taught me so much. I was able to put his current memories and thoughts at the front of his mind and store away the older, disorganized memories. The bad man wasn’t too good at the trick, must have just learned it because only a small amount of memories were affected. I could store them in a mental box.”
Taylor stops walking. I had been watching her the whole time, so I am shocked at what’s in front of us.
“Whoever did this to you was really strong.” Taylor squeezes my hand. “I hope—I hope you were able to stop him.”
Me too.
Towering before us is a massive warehouse. I’m unable to judge its width and height, but it seems to go on for miles. The steel door, at least five times the height and width of your normal door,